August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  "You are reclusive, sir," said Lady Heltsham. "While your brother moves about socially, I see nothing of you."

  "Ah, your ladyship, we move in different circles. Bancroft would not be seen in mine, and I do not derive much profit in his."

  "You are a collector of books?" she asked then.

  "Say, rather, of circumstances, events, and curious happenings," said Pons. "My interest is in the human comedy."

  A little nonplussed, Lady Heltsham came to the point of our visit. "My husband tells me you wish to examine his copy of Tamerlane."

  "If I could impose upon you for a few minutes," said Pons.

  "This way, please."

  Lady Heltsham led the way into her husband's study, a room lined with books behind locked glass doors almost from floor to ceiling to such an extent that the room was unnaturally dark. Lady Heltsham moved directly to the mahogany table in the centre of the room and turned on the strong light there.

  "I will bring it to you, Mr. Pons," she said.

  She crossed to one of the cases, unlocked it, and took from it a slender slipcase. This she brought to the table, and from it removed what seemed at first glance to be the duplicate of the book Joshua Bryant had laid before Pons the previous day.

  Pons, however, was peering not at the Tamerlane, but at the wall behind Lady Heltsham. "Forgive me," he said, "but surely that is not a first-edition set of Dickens?"

  She turned.

  Instantly Pons exchanged for the genuine Tamerlane on the table the spurious copy he had carried along from our quarters.

  "I believe it is, Mr. Pons," said Lady Heltsham, amused. "It hasn't the value, of course, of this little book —hardly more than a chapbook, as you see."

  Pons turned back the cover with a reverent air.

  "What could have been the 'private reasons' which caused its suppression?" he murmured.

  "I suppose we will never know, Mr. Pons."

  "That is surely a challenge for some biographer," Pons went on, turning to the first page of text.

  He bent to peer closely at the page, then turned from this position to look strangely at Lady Heltsham.

  "What is it, Mr. Pons?"

  "Surely his lordship is aware that this is not a genuine Tamerlane?" he asked quietly.

  Lady Heltsham bent instantly at his side, her face quickening with alarm.

  "The absence of kerns, you see," began Pons.

  But he did not go on. Lady Heltsham's simultaneous reaction was so violent that Pons's words were stopped in this throat. She uttered a great cry of anguish, and without a moment's hesitation rushed headlong from the room.

  Pons immediately exchanged books once more, returned the genuine Tamerlane to its slipcase, and the encased book to its place on the shelf. He turned the key in the lock and brought the little ring of keys to which it was attached to the table to leave it in place of the book.

  The motor of a car roared into life somewhere outside the house.

  "Her ladyship is now on her way to Farringdon Road," said Pons.

  "That was a cruel trick, Pons," I said hotly.

  "Was it not!" he agreed. "I rather think, however, that Lady Heltsham would never have admitted to any part in the matter of the spurious Tamerlane if I had not tricked her so. I regret the shock to her."

  Pons sat in silence in the cab on the way back to our quarters until I broke into his meditation.

  "I fail to understand Lord Heltsham's role," I said.

  "If I am not mistaken, the spurious Tamerlane was used to

  occupy the slipcase during the absence of the genuine one," said Pons.

  "Then Lord Heltsham never saw it!"

  "In all likelihood he did not. I submit that the forgery was intended to deceive him should he have occasion to glance into the slipcase, though a close examination would have revealed the deception. The forged copy having served its purpose, it was dropped into Bryant's barrow. The gambit I took was intended to make Lady Heltsham believe that, in spite of her certainty to the contrary, she had inadvertently dropped the real Tamerlane in Farringdon Road. She has gone there to see. Bryant, who has no reason to dissemble, will tell her what has happened to the copy she left there, and in all probability her ladyship will then arrive at the correct explanation of the little scene in which she played such an impetuous role. She will return to her husband's study and discover the real Tamerlane in its slipcase; she will then know that I deliberately tricked her."

  "And she will call on you," I put in.

  "I doubt it. Lady Heltsham will wait upon me to make the next move."

  "Pons, you cannot go back to the house."

  "At the moment I have no intention of doing so. If I read her ladyship aright, she will tell us nothing. I shall have to use other means to learn why she found it necessary to remove her husband's valuable Tamerlane for some time from its slipcase and substitute a spurious copy."

  "Could it not have been used to make a potential buyer of the spurious copy believe he was buying the genuine Tamerlane?" I asked.

  "If that were the explanation," said Pons a trifle impatiently, "surely I would not now be in possession of the forgery."

  "Of course not," I agreed.

  "You imply further that Lady Heltsham might have been guilty of such criminal deception. Far from it. I submit that the lady acted out of desperation."

  "I find this matter more baffling every moment," I said.

  "Tut, tut! If we accept the premise that the spurious copy was meant only for the casual deception I have postulated, an interesting use for the real Tamerlane then suggests itself. Indeed, at the moment, unlikely as it seems, it remains as the only tenable one. You will remember my credo —when all the impossible explanations have been eliminated, then whatever remains, improbable as it may be, must be the truth."

  "And that?"

  "Surely so valuable an object as the rare Tamerlane would make excellent collateral!"

  "Of course."

  "And if her ladyship needed money urgently and could not ask her husband for it, she might persuade herself to borrow the Tamerlane. I myself would lend her up to three thousand pounds on such security — providing I had it to lend. I submit that any bank in London would do the same."

  "Then you need only apply to the banks."

  "Ah, that is information no reputable bank would divulge. Yet, in the interests of Lady Heltsham, we shall have to examine into this matter from another quarter. Unless I am badly mistaken, she may yet have further need for the spurious Tamerlane she had made for her desperate purpose."

  "I daresay you are hardly the person Lady Heltsham would care to see at this point."

  "I do not doubt it," agreed Pons. "She will not see me."

  "Lord Heltsham then?"

  "The very last person to whom to make application." He shook his head. "No, Parker —these waters run a little deeper than you may think. We shall have to proceed with caution lest we precipitate the very tragedy Lady Heltsham seems to fear."

  Thereafter he said no more, and we rode the rest of the way in silence, Pons leaning back with his eyes closed so that the passing scene might not distract him from his train of thought.

  Pons was up and away before I rose next morning, and without touching the breakfast Mrs. Johnson had brought up. I went out on my rounds soon after, pausing briefly at our quarters in passing at midday, only to find Pons still absent. He did not return until the dinner hour, following me in by thirty minutes, and wearing a sober, preoccupied air.

  "I have been inquiring into that little matter of the spurious Tamerlane," he said as he took up a position at the mantel and began to fill his pipe with shag.

  "Ah, you have solved it," I cried.

  He shook his head impatiently. "Come, come, Parker, it is not a matter of solving, as you put it, but of knowing just where to take hold of it to bring about its resolution. How did Lady Heltsham strike you? A woman of character?"

  "I thought so."

  "And I."

  "And
under considerable stress."

  "Elementary."

  "But controlled —apart, that is, from exposure to sudden shocks prepared by Mr. Solar Pons."

  Pons bowed his acknowledgment. "Would you not conclude, then, that if such a woman needed money, she would attempt to raise it through her own possessions before she borrowed her husband's?"

  "I would, indeed."

  "I have been making the rounds of the pawnshops for the better part of the day," said Pons then. "A description of the lady, with tinted glasses added and, no doubt, an assumed name, has led me to conclude that Lady Heltsham has borrowed money against all but her most essential jewels, two autographed books of some rarity belonging to her, some valuable furs—and, at last, the Tamerlane, which alone has been redeemed because Lady Heltsham was fortunate enough to come into a small inheritance from an uncle. Indeed, announcement of it appears only in the evening papers, though the inheritance was obviously paid some time ago —two thousand pounds, all of which, I venture to guess, went to redeem her husband's Tamerlane."

  "You've not confronted her with these facts?"

  "Certainly not. I shall not. This need for money has been of comparatively short duration. Scarcely a year. Would it surprise you to learn that within that time Lady Heltsham has also begun to bet on horses and to invest on the Stock Market?"

  "Ah, it is that vice!"

  "Gently, gently, Parker. That is surely not a vice so rapidly acquired."

  "But it is one in which she could hardly expect her husband to foot the bill," I put in.

  "It does not strike you as curiously coincidental that Lady Heltsham, who had previously shunned the races and the market, should suddenly begin to wager money and to invest it —somewhat incautiously?"

  "Which came first?" I asked. "The pawning of her valuables or the wagering?"

  "The pawnings."

  I shrugged. "And with that money she gambled!"

  "You have a tidy mind, Parker, and you are always singularly direct. It does not seem to you unlikely that Lord Heltsham is too penurious to deny his wife a little money for a pleasure which has always commanded the allegiance of the upper classes?"

  "I haven't the noble lord's acquaintance, so I can hardly speak for him," I said, "but it is not improbable."

  Pons nodded, his lips pursed, his eyes intent upon some point in space beyond the walls of our quarters. "There is one little aspect of the matter that puts an added light on it," said Pons then. "Her wagers and her investments have been far from matching the money she has borrowed —and I can say nothing of such securities as she may have taken to the banks."

  "Did she in fact borrow against securities as well?" I asked.

  "I think it highly likely that she did. There is everything to show that in her need to raise considerable sums of money, she explored every avenue before turning to securities that were not her own."

  "Like Lord Heltsham's Tamerlane."

  Pons nodded.

  "But there is plenty of precedent for sudden changes in living patterns," I said. "Lady Heltsham is not the first woman who has suddenly altered her way of life; she will not be the last."

  "In these matters I must defer to your judgment, Parker," said Pons dryly.

  "What do you propose to do?" I asked. "After all, you've solved the matter as far as Bryant is concerned."

  "True, true. But I have not satisfied myself. And at this point I have gone as far as I can go alone."

  "If there is anything I can do," I began.

  "I count on your loyalty always, Parker, but in this case, I need expert help. I have called upon Bancroft and commanded the power that is only the Foreign Office's. I have had to inform him in the strictest secrecy that I have reason to believe Lady Heltsham is the victim of a conspiracy that may involve espionage."

  I studied his face to see whether he jested, but the grimness of his features gave me no alternative but to believe him. Nevertheless, I could not but express my amazement. "Surely not Lady Heltsham! Perhaps her husband." "Lord Heltsham is on the Munitions Committee," said Pons significantly.

  "But what can Bancroft do?"

  "He has done what I asked, and discreetly. Lady Heltsham's mail will be opened and her telephone tapped. I need to know who communicates with her. Unless I am very much mistaken, she will receive a communication of some importance within twenty-four hours. I am prepared to act upon it."

  "You astound me!" I cried.

  "It is surely not the first time," said Pons, his eyes twinkling.

  Early the next evening, Pons received from his brother the first copies of the letters delivered to Lady Heltsham during the day. He pounced upon it eagerly. There were nine letters in all; I could not see that Pons read most of them, only beginning each of them, and tossing it aside. But at last, when he came to the seventh one, he paused, read it at a glance, and smiled.

  "I fancy this is what we want, Parker," he said, handing it to me.

  It was but the briefest of notes.

  "Dear Lady,

  "I count on your joining me tomorrow at two for a cocktail at

  Sardi's.

  "Victor."

  I looked up. "You cannot know the sender?"

  "I fancy I do. He is Victor Affandi, a man about town. He is hardly more than an international gigolo, but highly popular with the ladies. He is of Egyptian descent, and lives at The Larches in Laburnum Crescent."

  "You think him guilty of espionage?"

  "I should not be surprised if he were. He is an ingenious man, one who has managed to live conspicuously well without visible means of support other than a small allowance left him many years ago. If you are not averse to an adventure in larceny, we shall pay his quarters a visit tomorrow afternoon."

  I looked at Pons askance. "As your friend Bryant puts it, 'There's a smell of fish about this,' " I said. "What can you hope to find at Af- fandi's place?"

  Pons smiled. "We shall see."

  However much I may have been inclined to hold back, I was at

  Pons's side next afternoon when his skeleton keys let him into the sumptuously furnished apartment occupied by Victor Affandi. Once the door was closed behind us, Pons stood quietly in the middle of the living-room examining our surroundings. His keen eyes darted from one to another of the framed pictures on the walls —some patently original watercolours and oils —until he came to one only a trifle out of line. He strode across the room and lifted the picture sufficiently to disclose a wall-safe.

  He stood for a moment contemplating it, then gently lowered the picture. "Affandi could hardly be so obvious," he murmured.

  He resumed his scrutiny of the room. He contemplated the furniture, but discarded this, too. He went around the rug, raising it for any evidence of a receptacle in the floor. He passed on into the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom, examining each in turn before he came back into the living-room.

  "We don't have much time," he said. "I daresay Affandi's cocktail engagement will be a cruelly short one."

  Apart from the costliness of its appointments, the living-room was simply furnished. Pons examined the furniture, but only desultorily; clearly he did not believe that what he sought was hidden in it any more than he believed the wall-safe to be its place of concealment.

  Finally, his eyes fixed upon a recessed shelf of books. He crossed to it, and I followed. The volumes Victor Affandi had collected were almost depressingly prosaic —a Forsyte novel by Galsworthy, a Proust volume in French, books by Dickens, George Meredith, Thomas Hardy, the poems of Byron, and, somewhat incongruously, two oversized leatherbound volumes containing the Old and the New Testament. It was this two-volume edition of the Bible which had caught Pons's attention. His eyes quickened as he drew one of them from the shelf and opened it.

  "An uncommonly light book for one of its size," he said. "I fancy this is what we are looking for, Parker."

  He turned back the pages until he came at last to a page that would not turn —and the rest of the pages were solid. The b
ook was a dummy.

  Pons sought and found the tiny lever and unlatched the cover of the dummy portion, and the lid flew back. There lay disclosed papers, documents, packets of letters, and newspaper clippings.

  Without a moment's hesitation, Pons dipped into Affandi's papers and proceeded methodically to stuff the contents of the book into his pockets.

  "Pons, what are you doing?" I protested.

  "Robbing Affandi of his treasures," said Pons blandly. "How many of his visitors would think of looking into a Bible!" he added, chuckling.

  He locked the book, closed it, and returned it to its place on the shelf.

  Then he took down the other book, which was also a dummy, and emptied this in similar fashion.

  "Now, quickly, Parker, out of the place," he said.

  In short order, we found ourselves back at our quarters. There Pons lost no time in sending a note to Lady Heltsham, inviting her to call at 7B at her convenience, and promising that she would learn something to her advantage. To all my questions, he turned a deaf ear, or worse, a scornful retort.

  "It is as plain as a pikestaff, Parker. You disappoint me. You began so well in this matter, and you have been misled so easily."

  He spent the next two hours, spurning supper, making an inventory of the contents of Victor Affandi's Bible. Some of the papers and letters he slipped into manila envelopes and addressed them for posting; some he put aside for further examination.

  Lady Heltsham presented herself promptly at eight o'clock. She entered our rooms with understandable reserve, and as she threw back the veil which covered her features it was patent that she was under tension not untouched by indignation.

  "Ah, my dear Lady Heltsham," said Pons, "I owe you an apology for that little substitution I played upon you. Nevertheless, it has led to a result I am sure you will agree is a happy one for you. I believe these belong to you."

  So saying, he handed her a packet of letters from Victor Affandi's collection.

  For a few moments she gazed wide-eyed at the letters Pons held out to her. Then she seized hold of them with trembling hands, and her liquidly beautiful eyes stared uncomprehendingly at Pons.

  "Pray make sure they are all there," urged Pons.